Floo Accidents
by Marsky
Summary: Harry is intoxicated and accidentally ends up in someone else's house.


Disclaimer: Not mine... never will be. They belong to the genius otherwise known as JK Rowling.  
  
Warnings: Uh... alcohol, sex, and swear words. Not appropriate for the young peeps out there. There is going to be slash, and that is your only fair warning.  
  
A/N: I thought of this, and it wouldn't leave me alone. It probably won't be the best fiction that you have ever read, but that is expected of me. There will be errors in grammar, spelling, etc. and by now, you should be used to it.  
  
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Ron, like his father, had really come to use (and take apart) many muggle items, and ever since he had started to live with his best friend Hermione, he had learned to use them properly and also what they were called. It was only so long that Hermione could take Ron calling a telephone a Felly-tone. After Hermione explained it to him, a beautiful relationship budded from their friendship. They had been living together for about five years, and were really enjoying their ripe age of 23. After going through the typical party-animal, I-don't-give-a-fuck-about-the-rest-of-the-world, and the gloomy depressed stages, Ron had finally decided to propose to his friend come lover. It was a joyous and romantic occasion, but we won't get into that.  
  
Ron's proposal to Hermione was the exact reason that Harry was enjoying the pleasant buzz of intoxication, and why he was standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron fireplace. He could scarcely talk, and much less remember the words to get back to his comfortable flat. He continued to stand there a few minutes before he heard Ron say that his place was called the Lion's Den. Ah... such a beautiful friendship. Always there when you needed it.  
  
Harry tried to say Lion's Den, but unfortunately his tongue was still thick from alcohol, so it came out sounding something like "Lionth Den". It was good enough for the Floo Network to work though, so he wasn't too worried. But he didn't end up at his house. Actually, he didn't even end up at a house that he had ever visited. The room he had arrived in seemed like a bedroom, instead of the customary living room entrances. The walls were an earthy-green color, and the furniture was mostly a silvery iron color. There was a rug on the floor that was a rich brown color and it appeared to be the fur of an animal. The carpet was a sterile looking white color; it looked like it was brand new. There were candelabras on the wall, holding many silvery-green candles. They were all dimmed magically so that the owner of the house could get sleep.  
  
He then heard a rustle of sheets and a moaning noise. There was a blonde in the bed writhing and moaning, sweat trickling down him face in rivulets. His eyes were closed tightly, and he was a little pink in the face. Harry sympathized for this man, for he had known how much nightmares could affect your life. There was a time in Hogwarts that he had withdrawn from his friends and studies because of his horrible visions at night. Visions of death and mutilation always colored in green. But after a while he had gotten used to it, and after defeating Voldemort, his nightmares all but disappeared. He would just hate for anyone to be plagued by nightmares, so being the Gryffindor that he is, he decided to comfort him.  
  
He walked over to the bed, and hearing the man below him moan again, he felt another stab of sympathy. He rubbed the mystery man's back and murmured soft words of comfort.  
  
He never expected a pair of hot lips to descend onto his own and feverishly kiss him, and he never thought that he would be kissing back...especially kissing someone he didn't even know. But this kiss felt so damn good. The man opened his eyes sometime during the heated snog, and Harry saw a beautiful grey color. Then, his unknown lover started kissing his neck. Harry groaned. His nerve endings were singing with delight. Colors were swirling behind his eyes. How could someone that he didn't even know give him such pleasure? The man continued to kiss his neckline a while, before he began to nibble. While Harry was distracted with the feeling of lips against skin, the man removed both of their shirts. The cold air hit him with a small blast, and he gasped. The man warmed him with a hot tongue and caresses on bare skin. It felt so good. Next, the jeans that he had been wearing were taken off. The tongue moved to where the clothes were removed. This continued far into the night. There were thrusts, groans, and when the mystery man came he whispered Potter into Harry's mouth. How had he known?  
  
The next morning Harry woke up and felt his arms wrapped around a small, but definitely masculine body. His eyes opened a crack, and he was greeted with the glare of sunlight off of a white-blonde head. He could only recall vague things from last night. Flashes of silver eyes, kisses peppered over flushed skin, taking and being taken. All beautifully mixed together like an abstract painting.  
  
Harry realized that he had a headache and his tongue felt dry and thick. He felt dirty, and he didn't know why. He felt the sensation of his bare skin against another's, but this time it didn't feel heavenly. It felt sinful. What had he done? How drunk had he been? Where in Merlin's name was he? The man nestled in his arms rolled over and was now face to face with Harry. He was still asleep with a peaceful and satisfied smile on his face. Harry felt like he was going to vomit. It was none other than Draco Malfoy. His arch-nemesis. The one person that he would NEVER want to even meet on the street in happenstance, let alone wake up in bed with.  
  
He carefully removed his arms from around his companion's (if you could call him that) waist. He got out of the massive bed and quietly retrieved his clothes from various places in the room. After getting dressed he walked towards the fireplace, and took a pinch of floo from the glazed pot on the mantle. During all of this he was swearing to himself that he would never get drunk again. He whispered 'incendio' and threw the floo powder onto the small flame. The fire blazed a bright green. He said, in a normal tone, "Lion's Den" and the last sight he saw before he was taken off in a rush of soot and flame was Malfoy sitting up in his bed and whispering a regretful goodbye. 


End file.
